


"It's...it's me again."

by AnAngelAndHisDemon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Its A Terrible Life AU, M/M, Nothing Supernatural, Red - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnAngelAndHisDemon/pseuds/AnAngelAndHisDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith can't seem to get this voice out of his head from one of the workers in Tech Support in the Sandover Building, and he has to keep playing the same excuse in an attempt to keep talking to this mystery voice that he totally isn't head over heels for.<br/>And then Sam has to involve himself  and play match-maker between his stubborn brother and the man in the cubicle next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"It's...it's me again."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Supernatural work on this site, and this was kind of just an idea that popped into my head after watching RED (yes, I did base this off that, thank you for asking).  
> Please enjoy.

Dean was waiting impatiently. His foot was tapping the ground rapidly and he was beating the pen in his hand on his desk to the beat of an AC/DC song to try and distract himself, but it wasn’t working. All he could think about was the little thing that would make his day, a little habit he had stumbled into that turned into a happy accident that had recently become a slight borderline obsession.

 

It was a huge waste of his time honestly, to wait for something so juvenile and childish as an email, and if any of his coworkers saw him like this, or God forbid his brother, he would never be able to live it down. Not Dean Smith, the pride and joy of Sandover Bridge & Iron Corporation, who was a hot shot with the secretaries and an animal in the workforce.

 

But when that little email popped up on his desktop screen telling him that his little technical problem had, once again, been fixed, his heart would skip a beat and everything else would be irrelevant for that moment, and all he could think of was that _voice_ , that perfect, alluring, sensual voice, and imagine all the different ways that voice could be dressed up as…

           

And then he would find himself jumping for the phone, his body tense with anticipation, a breath being held back as he kept an inner debate going inside his head. His heart was thumping for him to just _pick it up already!_ while his brain was trying to be rational in telling him that it was probably all for nothing and that Dean needed to _pull yourself together man and do some actual work at your job!_

But the email had yet to arrive today.

           

And it wasn’t helping Dean’s situation at all.

           

Really he should’ve been working; he should’ve been trying to close those deals with the large Asian contractors across town like his boss wanted. The past week, because of his infatuation with the emails and this voice, he had to take work home with him most of the time and finish it there just to catch up to what he should’ve been doing all day, meaning even fewer hours of sleep, resulting in a quick nap at his desk during lunch, which left him groggy for the rest of the day.

           

Until his email would come, of course.

           

Which seemed to be taking longer than usual now.

           

 _Maybe they finally caught on…_ Dean thought, drumming his fingers on his desk. _Maybe they realized that I’m totally creeping on them and not actually doing anything productive and I’m going to be fired and—_

A sharp “Ding!” interrupted Dean’s rapid dissent into insanity, and he sat himself up straight immediately and took a deep breath before opening the email. It was the exact same as the one he’d received yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and so on and so forth. It was the same email everyone received when an issue they had had been solved by the techies in the basement level.

           

But Dean liked to read it anyway, and feel his palms start to sweat as he scrolled through, hanging on every word, his tongue swiping over his lips in a nervous gesture he had recently discovered about himself. Of course, he only read it to save face, and not call immediately after getting the email to look like such a desperate loser with nothing else to do but wait to receive a friggin’ email.

           

_If you have any comments, concerns, or the issue you reported has not been solved, please call Tech Services back at 867-5309. Thank you for your cooperation._

           

Dean’s heart felt like it was going to rip out of his chest, and he reached for the phone, dragging his tongue over his lips again, his hands shaking with anticipation. He slowly punched in the numbers, and the extension that took him directly to the voice.

           

_Ring ring…ring ring…ring—_

“This is Tech Support, my name is Mr. Novak, how may I help you?”

           

A shudder ran down Dean’s spine; he had missed the voice. That gravelly, rumbling, soothing voice that kept Dean up at night and distracted him from his work for far longer than it should’ve.

           

“Hi,” Dean said as calmly as he could manage. “It’s…it’s me again.”

           

_God you sound so desperate._

           

“Director Smith?”

           

_He remembers me!_

_Of course he remembers you, you’ve only called him a dozen different times._

           

“Director Smith” was so formal; he wanted to tell Mr. Novak to call him Dean, but that would’ve raised some red flags as to what kind of professional environment he was working in. And besides, it did send another chill down Dean’s back, thinking of the power he held over this voice, but the voice not knowing the power he held over him.

           

“Yea, Director Smith.”

           

There was a heavy sigh, “Don’t tell me they forgot _again_?”

           

Dean glanced at his paper shredder, where another stack of papers were waiting to be annihilated; the same stack he had been shredding for a week or two now. Originally he had asked for just one that had never come, and had called to request that the papers be resent, but he had been met with this…distraction. He didn’t intend for it to go on like this, but he couldn’t resist, and though he kept receiving those stacks of papers, papers that he didn’t even need anymore, it was still somewhat of an excuse to call this Mr. Novak.

           

“I think they’re getting confused on the floor and room numbers,” Dean chuckled.

           

A shuffling of papers could be heard on the other side and Mr. Novak answered firmly, “I promise you, Director, you will get those damn papers if I have to hand deliver them myself.”

           

Dean laughed. “I would be flattered, Mr. Novak.”

           

There was another sigh from the other side, and generally that was where the interactions would end. Generally.

           

“So how’s Iris?” Dean asked, as if switching to talking to an old friend.

           

Mr. Novak waited a moment before responding, no doubt looking to make sure his supervisor wasn’t around before he slipped into casual conversation, “She is doing a lot better, thank you. I think the next time she’s outside, she won’t stand so close to the edge of a two story balcony.”

           

Dean smiled, “Well it sounds like she deserved what she got.”

           

“I understand you hate cats, Director, but you don’t have to go wishing death upon mine.”

           

“A cats a cats a cat, no matter if it belongs to the president or Paul McCartney or Mr. Novak from Tech Services in the Sandover Bridge and Iron Corporation building.”

           

“One day I’ll force you in the same room as her and see who comes out alive.”

           

Dean chuckled, and thought of the notion of being in Mr. Novak’s apartment. He imagined it to be modest, one bedroom, one bath, a kitchen, a living room; nothing extraordinary, but something about it that just made it better. Like his voice.

           

“And how’re your rose bushes doing?” The other side asked, continuing the conversation.

           

Dean smiled. Mr. Novak had said once that he liked to garden, and appreciated those that took the time to give back to the environment and contribute beauty to the world. Of course, Dean _had_ to say that he was into gardening as well, and that his pride and joy were his rose bushes (which just so happened to be Mr. Novak’s favorite plant), even though Dean used to think of them as annoying shrubs growing on the side of his nice modern house.

           

“They’re blossoming actually, thanks to your tips,” Dean responded.

           

“And what mystery color did they turn out to be?”

 

“Well that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

 

There was a pause, and Dean imagined Mr. Novak raising an eyebrow at this statement. Dean didn’t even know what he meant by it when he said it.

 

“What are you implying, Director?”

 

Dean grinned and twirled his pencil around and between his fingers, thinking. “Who says I’m implying anything, Mr. Novak?”

 

This conversation was going a very different direction than Dean and Mr. Novak had ever gone before. Usually it was just friendly banter between the two of them, but this was almost unabashed flirting. It was giving Dean a rush, but he was nervous as to how the other end was feeling about this.

 

“Then why won’t you tell me the color of your roses?”

 

“Why don’t you try to guess?”

 

Mr. Novak sighed, “Are we really playing this game, Director Smith?”

 

Dean chuckled, “Are you too scared to, Mr. Novak?”

 

“I said no such thing.”

 

“Then take a guess.”

 

There was a pause, and then a shifting on the other side, and Mr. Novak said in a low tone, “I have to go Director, I’m sorry. I hope your problem is fixed. Have a good day.”

 

The line went dead, and Dean sighed. He hung up the phone and slouched in his chair, loosening his tight tie around his neck. He took a few minutes break, thinking about that voice and Mr. Novak, and how long he planned to continue whatever was going on, before he pushed those thoughts aside and continued his marketing work that he had been doing originally.

 

* * *

 

Dean went home relatively early that day, at least early by his standards, and the sun was just setting when he was opening his front door. The lock was jammed, making Dean have to go around back and go through his backyard door to get inside. But before he could walk in, he took a moment to look at the rose bushes beside his walkway, and look at the blooming flowers abundant within them.

           

And a cheeky little thought crossed his mind, making the corners of his mouth tip up.

           

 _Dean, you can be so clever sometimes._  

 

* * *

 

Cas Novak hated his job. He hated working as a stupid techie for a stupid company and he hated wasting away his existence not really doing much for the world. He hated his dingy apartment, he hated his clothes, he hated the big city he lived in; there wasn’t much Cas _didn’t_ hate in this hell of a world he lived in.

           

Except when Director Smith called.

           

The highlight of Cas’s day was waiting until he had been notified _again_ that Director Smith’s complaint hadn’t been followed through with. Then he would compose the email he had written a thousand times before, but it seemed so much more special because it was going to _him._ And he would hesitate before sending, wondering if maybe the guy was getting annoyed that this lower life form was disrupting his day too much.

           

But then he would get a call shortly afterwards, and everything would be okay.

           

Cas always played dumb, even though he knew who it was. No one else really called Cas, considering he was a more specialized section of the Tech Support branch at Sandover. Of course calls weren’t rare, but he mostly spent his day sorting through a bunch of files for Sandover to determine what needed to stay and what didn’t need to stay, what was and wasn’t vital for the company.

           

And it was boring work.

           

Until he could have that little break, when Director Smith would call and they would talk about Cas’s cat and Director Smith’s bushes and everything seemed to be right in the world. It made Cas feel like he was back in high school, shamelessly flirting with this voice of a man he’s never met, but by the sound of it, he was pretty fit, and almost seemed to be flirting back.

           

But finding a reason to get up every day, drag himself to work, sit at a desk and try not to kill himself for six days a week was just torture in Cas’s opinion.

           

Director Smith made it just bearable, and was really the only reason Cas bothered going to work anymore. To hear that rumbling voice, the gruffness of it, that chuckle that would melt Cas’s interior.

           

So when Cas walked into work the morning after full out flirting with the Director, he didn’t expect anything to be different. He didn’t expect his boss to look at him with any less suspicion, or for anyone to really notice anyone else around them, or for his cubicle neighbor, Sam Wesson, to say more to him that day than just, “Hey”.

           

But his boss was too busy buried in paperwork to notice Cas, his coworkers were actually communicating with one another, and Sam greeted him with, “Who are the flowers from?”

           

Cas cocked his head. “What flowers?”

           

Sam nodded towards Cas’s desk, and lo and behold, there was a vase in front of his computer. It was a simple glass vase, tall and elegant and smooth, with an arrangement of flowers hanging out of the top of the vase; roses, colored red, pink, and white. There was a note placed next to the vase, with cursive writing that wasn’t quite pretty enough to be a female’s writing.

           

 _“_ _You asked me what color my rose bushes are. –D. Smith”_

Cas smiled, and tried to contain the beam he wanted to let show. He sighed contentedly, surprised by this small act of friendly flirtation, and set the roses to the side of his desk, staring at them in awe and wonder, while Sam just stared at him in confusion.

           

“So…who’re they from?”

           

Cas felt the buds, and imagined that Director Smith’s skin was as soft as the petals were.

           

“Someone upstairs.” Was Cas’s simply reply.

           

There was a moment of pause and Sam grinned. “A secret admirer?”

           

“I don’t know…I’ve talked to them before, on the phone.”

           

“But you’ve never met?”

           

Cas sighed. “Unfortunately.”

           

“Well that has to change!”

           

Cas looked over at Sam, his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

           

“I’m throwing a big promotion party for my brother tonight, and even though he got promoted like two months ago, he never had the time to celebrate. But anyone who is anyone in this company is going to be there, meaning your mysterious lover probably will too!” Sam beamed, clearly getting way too much enjoyment out of this.

           

“I don’t know…I’d feel bad for just showing up to a party for the executives.”

           

“C’mon, it’s not just for them. My brother has friends in many departments.”

           

“I don’t know…”

           

“Ple-eeee-ase?” Sam begged, batting his eyes and pushing his lip out in a puppy dog-like fashion. Cas wanted to say no; he hardly really knew Sam, despite them having been cubicle neighbors for almost two years now. He would consider them friends, but maybe not “Let me invite you to my house so I can hook you up” friends.

           

But it’s not like Cas had anything better to do…

           

“I…suppose…”

           

“Awesome!” Sam grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Starts at six thirty.”

           

Sam wrote down the address, and though Cas wanted to ask more details, he refrained, figuring that if worst came to worst, he could just leave before he made a complete fool of himself, or better yet, never go in the first place.

           

He was excited, naturally, but also scared. If he did meet this Director…what if he wasn’t everything Cas had hoped and dreamed he’d be? What if he fell short of his expectations, and Cas couldn’t possibly like him anymore?

           

The techie’s eyes flickered towards the roses, and he read the note again, a smile teasing his lips.

 

He wasn’t going to stop liking Director Smith any time soon.

 

* * *

 

“Dammit Sam, I told you, I don’t want to have a party!” Dean grumbled to his brother, who was over at his house for their weekly brother bonding time, which was really just sitting on his couch drinking beer and watching crap television, even though it turned out Sam was really setting up for some stupid promotion party.

           

Sam sighed, “I’ve already invited a lot of people though…”

           

Dean shook his head, taking a swig of his beer. “I don’t like parties. Every time, I end up just hanging out in the kitchen while you get shit-faced and then I have to deal with your puking all night and your hangover in the morning.”

           

“C’mon Dean, that’s a bit overstating—”

           

“Every. Time.”

           

Sam sighed again and walked to Dean’s fridge to pull out two other beers when he noticed something on Dean’s counter, and his eyebrows furrowed. He went over to inspect, and saw a stack of papers, the exact same group of papers, but ten times over, at least.

           

“Uh…Dean?”

           

“Hm?” He asked without turning around.

           

Sam picked up one of the papers. “What are…all of these?”

           

Dean glanced back and his eyes widened, and he jumped out of his seat and jogged over to the counter, reaching to take the papers away from his brother, who withheld them from him. He frowned and went to take them away again, but his brother refused to give them up.

           

“Sam—”

           

“These aren’t even important papers, just transactions…” His eyes widened. “…you’re not planning to rob Sandover are you?!”

           

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sam, grow up, it’s not like that—”

           

“Then why do you have all these papers? Please tell me there's a reasonable explanation.”

           

Dean sighed and leaned against the counter, downing the rest of his drink, contemplating formulating a lie or just spilling the truth. His brother had a hard time keeping his mouth shut, and he worked on the same floor as Mr. Novak, but it was such a big work area, and Sam said he hardly talked to the people around him, let alone the rest of the techies down there.

           

_He’ll probably forget by the end of the night anyway._

           

“Sam…okay, so I didn’t get this paper one day and I called tech support and I got this…this _voice_ man, and it was just really…really attractive and…and _sexy_ , and I just kept calling back saying I never got the papers, and I formed this…I guess friendship with the voice and I think I like them but I don’t know, it’ll never happen anyway…”

           

Sam listened to his story intently and then turned away, and Dean could see the gears turning in his head and he frowned.

           

“Oh no you don’t Sammy, don’t even _think_ about trying to find out who—”

           

“Fine.”

           

“—because I know…wait, what?” Dean blinked.

           

Sam shrugged, his hands up. “It’s fine Dean, I won’t bring it up again.”

           

Dean eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”

           

A little smile tugged at his lips. “You have to have this party tonight.”

           

“ _Sam_ —”

           

“Those are my terms!”

           

Dean glared at him and turned his back, weighing the odds. He had to admit, the thought of Sam finding out who Mr. Novak was and telling him that Dean had a big crush on him was slightly thrilling, even though he knew it was too middle school to go through with, and he wasn’t about to explain how he’d been getting the papers all along. And really, one night wasn’t so bad. If worst came to worst, he could just go upstairs and never go back down.

           

Dean sighed and turned back towards his brother, who waited impatiently for his answer.

           

“ _Fine_ …we’ll have your stupid party.”

           

Sam beamed and hugged his brother tightly, running around preparing. Dean just dragged his ass upstairs and took a long shower, changing into what Sam would deem “suitable party attire” before dragging his ass back downstairs, only to realize people were already beginning to show up.

           

So as per usual, Dean went to his kitchen, grabbed some snacks, and got settled in for the long night ahead.

 

* * *

 

It was already eight and there was no sign of Cas. Sam was starting to get anxious; Cas _had_ to come. Now that Sam knows his brother and his cubicle neighbor have been shamelessly flirting for who knows how long, it’s his civic duty to set them up and make his brother happy for once in his life.

           

But happiness was deciding to not show up.

           

Sam wandered around, interacting with people as he went, wondering if he had maybe just not seen the guy come in.

           

And then he walked into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Cas really, _really_ wanted to skip out on the party. He had talked himself out of going countless times, coming up with a plethora of excuses to give to Sam the following day. Really he was convincing himself that he shouldn’t go, and every time he would start to take his nice jacket off in an attempt to make his decision final, but then a thought would cross his mind.

           

 _Director Smith_.

           

And a chill would run down his spine.

           

Was he to remain nothing but a voice forever?

           

It’s true, meeting the Director at this party was a long shot anyway, and he was really the only reason Cas would go, not knowing anyone else but Sam. But just the possibility of seeing him, seeing if he was everything Cas had imagined he would be, connecting a voice to a face and realizing if the chemistry he feels between them is seen by him as well.

           

And that’s why Cas went to the party in the end.

           

It was rather early; the party started at six-thirty and he was arriving at seven. Just from the looks of the outside of the house, Sam’s brother must’ve been pretty well off, though if just his brother lived there, it would be too large of a home for just one man. A handful of cars were parked on the street outside, but Cas guessed there were probably plenty more people in the house, despite the party just starting.

           

He walked up to the doorway and contemplated ringing the doorbell, but after hearing the hustle and bustle inside, he figured no one would be able to hear it anyway. Cas walked inside, shedding his jacket and hanging it with all the others, and looked through the mass of bodies that were in front of him. Glancing at the different faces, Cas realized that he didn’t even know who he was looking for; it’s not like someone would have “Director Smith” plastered on their forehead.

           

Instead, Cas began looking for Sam, and found him rather quickly, sitting on a sofa and chatting up a couple of secretaries. Cas debated going over to say hi, but then decided that he looked rather comfortable, and was getting along with the ladies well enough that an interruption wouldn’t be welcomed.

           

People were dancing around Cas and rubbing up against him, stepping on his toes and pushing him into walls. Eventually he stumbled into another room, and was delighted in the fact that he could actually breathe in there. Looking around, he identified it as the kitchen, and saw a few other wallflowers taking solace in there as well.

           

Cas sighed to himself as he picked up a mini sandwich; how was he ever going to find the Director? He’s the charismatic kind of guy that would most likely be in the middle of that swarm of people, living it up like all executives do. Cas looked down at his sandwich sadly; maybe he and Director Smith weren’t as alike as he thought.

           

_God, why did I come here?_

           

Cas looked up when he heard someone else enter the room, and saw none other than Sam Wesson himself. His shoulders visibly relaxed, and Sam beamed at him, as if he had found something he’d been searching forever for.

           

“Cas, it’s nice to see you found the place!” He smiled, clapping him on the back. He glanced over at the only other person in the kitchen, a muscular man with nicely styled hair and a sprinkling of freckles over his face, who was stuffing said face with mini sandwiches. “Dean, will you stop pigging out for five minutes and enjoy your own party?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, and Cas determined that that must’ve been Sam’s brother.

 

Sam sighed. “Will you at least go say hi to some of the people that bothered to show up for you?” Another eye roll. “Fine, you’re forcing my hand.”

 

Dean stared at him in suspicion as Sam stormed over, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him back to Cas, who was watching in just as much shock and embarrassment as was written on Dean’s face.

 

“Dean, this is Cas. He works in tech support with me. Cas, this is Dean, my block-headed executive brother.”

 

Cas smiled and nodded his head to Dean, who returned the gesture and glared at Sam, forcing the food in his mouth down his throat and nearly choking in the process. Sam sighed dramatically and grabbed a beer, thrusting it in his hand and looking between the two of them.

 

“Socialize.”

 

He gave a curt nod and returned to the crowd.

 

Cas looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet as Dean downed half his beer and grabbed another sandwich.

 

“I’m sorry about my brother,” He said, his voice deep and loud.

 

Cas shrugged. “Why aren’t you out there with him? Isn’t it your party?”

 

Dean sighed. “Yea, but I’m being forced to have it. I’m really only here for the free refreshments.” He grinned. “So what brings you to the party? You don’t look like the partying type, no offense.”

 

“None taken…I don’t know, I guess because I’m looking for someone.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Looking for someone? Man, you can go to bars for that! Much easier.”

 

Cas furrowed his eyebrows before fully understanding what he meant. “Oh no, not like that…well, I guess like that…I don’t know, Sam was really insistent I come.”

 

“Yea he can be like that sometimes,” Dean agreed, and his eyes widened briefly before he rushed forward and into the crowd, returning shortly after with a vase and flowers. He set it down on the counter and sighed in relief. Glancing back at Cas, he offered the brief explanation of, “Someone almost crushed them.”

 

Cas looked at him funny. “You care that much about your flowers?”

 

Dean shrugged and glanced at them. “They’re…special to me, I guess you could say.”

 

Cas nodded and looked at the flowers, recognizing them as roses.

 

He smiled softly, thinking of the Director. “I love roses.”

 

“Do you?” Dean grinned. “A lot of people do, apparently.”

 

“They’re actually the reason I was invited.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, and just as Cas was about to explain, he stared at the roses. He stared at them, at the reds, pinks, and whites, and recognized them as flowers similar to those he had received earlier that very same day. He stared at them, his mouth agape, and then glanced back at Dean, who was watching his reaction in mild concern tinged with curiosity.

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” Cas asked breathlessly, his heart beating faster with every breath he took, threatening to burst out of his chest.

 

Dean blinked. “Dean. Dean Smith.”

 

And suddenly, the world went still.

 

_“You asked me what color my rose bushes are. –D. Smith”_

 

This whole time, Cas just assumed the “D” stood for “Director”.

 

 _Dean Smith_.

 

Cas stared at this man, the man he came to meet, with his freckles and his strong jaw and his dazzling green eyes and his broad shoulders and his button-down shirt, and Cas felt as if he couldn’t breathe. _This_ was him. _This_ was the Director, the mystery, the faceless voice that was now standing right before him. And Cas waited for that feeling of being underwhelmed, of Dean not living up to his imagination, but it never came.

 

Because Dean wasn’t just as Cas imagined him.

 

He was _better_.

 

* * *

 

“Uh…” Dean blinked, staring at Cas as he went into some other world, his eyes seeming to glaze over as he stared at Dean. He was really quite confused; why would he look at his roses and then demand to know his name again before going off into some trance?

 

Cas snapped himself out of it and looked like he was trying to hold back a shitload of emotions that were going crazy inside his eyes, his striking blue eyes that Dean found to be quite handsome actually. They contrasted perfectly with his dark hair and pale skin, and though he did work in tech support, he still had a nice body. Perhaps more of a swimmer’s body than what Dean had, but attractive nonetheless.

 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, and Cas smiled softly.

 

“Never been better,” He replied, clasping his hands together.

 

Dean nodded hesitantly. “Can I ask what happened just now?”

 

Cas furrowed his eyebrows and tried to piece together a way to say what journey his mind had just went on, and he said simply, “I’ve just found the person I came to see.”

 

Dean blinked again. “Who, me?”

 

“Yes…Director.”

 

For a moment, Dean was as confused as ever; why would this complete stranger come to see him in the first place, a stranger who works with his brother in tech support and has no connection to Dean whatsoever, and then call him _Director_? No one called him that, not his secretary, not his boss, no one, except—

 

“… _Mr. Novak_?!”

 

Cas nodded slowly and held out his hand with an awkward smile. “Castiel Novak, Tech Support for Sandover Bridge & Iron.”

 

Dean looked between his hand and his face, trying to make himself realize that he was _actually meeting_ this nameless voice that had been haunting him for too long. He let out a breathy laugh, gathering up the other man in his arms and planting a firm kiss on his mouth, surprising both himself and Cas. When he pulled himself away, he started to spill out an apology starting with how he’d had way too much to drink, but Cas simply silenced him with a chaste peck on the lips.

 

Dean grinned. “Director Dean Smith, executive manager for Sandover Bridge & Iron.”

 

“Can I just say that it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Director?” Cas chuckled.

 

Dean laughed. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Novak. Can I offer you a beer?”

 

“I would love one.”

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up the following morning with a pounding headache and a stiff body. He groaned slightly and rolled over, only to find that he wasn’t alone in his queen bed. Looking beside him, he saw another sleeping figure, and a smile stretched across his face in delight as the realization came to his mind that last night hadn’t been a dream.

           

Dean leaned down and kissed Cas’s head gently, who then turned to face Dean and batted his eyes open.

           

“Good morning, Mr. Novak,” Dean cooed with a grin.

           

Cas chuckled. “Are you going to keep calling me that forever, Director?”

           

“Would you prefer a different nickname?”

           

“Hmm…what have you got in mind?”

           

Dean thought for a second, running his fingers through Cas’s hair. “What about…angel?”

           

Cas wrinkled his nose. “I’ll stick with Mr. Novak, thank you.”

           

Dean laughed and played with his hair for a few moments longer before saying quietly, “Cas, can I…admit something to you?”

           

“Hm?” He looked up at Dean.

           

He sighed and said slowly, “I…I shredded the papers, every time you would send new ones. I just...wanted an excuse to call you.”

           

Cas smiled softly. “Can I admit something to you, Dean?”

           

“Sure.”

           

He sat up and kissed him gently, pushing him against the headboard and letting his fingers glide down his chest. He smiled against Dean’s lips and pulled away, staring into his brilliant green eyes and admiring the freckles he was sure he’d try to count someday, and said in that distinctive voice that started this whole mess,

           

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not very long; short, sweet, and to the point. I hope this is well received, and I can't wait to post more of my constant ramblings of these two. Thank you for reading.


End file.
